


What a Heavenly Way To Die

by objectlesson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Baby Girlfriends, Established Relationship, F/F, Face-Sitting, Fluff and Smut, Insecurity, Oral Sex, Romance, TXF house, The X Factor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 10:30:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15928577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: She’s thought about it a lot, and two big things seem to be holding her back, aside from the uncontrollableparalysisthat overtakes her body every time she so much as tries to sneak a hand under the waistband of Harry’s knickers.---Or, Louis is afraid to do stuff to Harry, who has done a lot of stuff to her.





	What a Heavenly Way To Die

**Author's Note:**

> I finally wrote an X factor girl direction fic!!! Probably THE MOST in my comfort zone thing I could possibly do. This is for a friend, who requested "harry's first time with a girl," and as you all can see, this is not even remotely close to the prompt. I suppose it could be described as Harry's first time getting eaten out by a girl, but since it's in Louis's POV, its much more about HER first time eating Harry out. It's not a technical first time fic, either, but its about insecurity and negotiation and how sometimes we ladies can get super fucking worked up about the unlikely but still terrifying idea we're....BAD at oral sex, so it feels like first time fic, IMO. 
> 
> I hope you all love it and happy pussy eating <3 
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta Jen, who said I only got a LITTLE titty-giddy when writing this.

Harry’s not wearing a bra, as per usual. 

It would be fine, like, Louis doesn’t always wear one either. But the thing is, Louis has mosquito-bite-sized tits that she’s been insecure about her entire life (until Harry called them _perfect mouthfuls_ and sucked a smattering of dark love bites onto them, making Louis forget what she was ever worried about in the first place), and Harry…Harry _doesn’t._ They’re, like, C-cups at least, heavy and pendulous as she bends over the table in her white onesie, which is unzipped down to below her collarbones, nipples visible through the soft, sweatshirt-y fabric. 

Louis stares, squirms, adjusts herself, and then stares some more. She’s pretending to play Mario Kart with Niall and Aiden, but it’s difficult when her secret girlfriend is only a coffee table away, flaunting her spectacular tits in the middle of a heated hearts game with Mary. Louis's distracted. 

She falls off Rainbow Road and mumbles out a breathy, “Fuck,” as she throws the controller because this is, like, the third time she's botched the course in the last two minutes. 

“Hahahaha, Luigi time!” Niall crows in a terrible Italian accent, but Louis isn't paying attention, eyes glued instead to Harry’s cleavage as she makes the executive decision to just drape herself across the table right in the middle of Harry’s card game. 

“Goodness,” Mary sighs, sitting back and stretching her arms because she’s old and knows better than to try and physically move Louis when she’s being dramatic.

Louis’s ignoring Mary, though. “Harriet,” she announces, reaching up and poking a dimple because Harry _should_ be annoyed that there’s a human body on her discard pile, but she’s smiling widely as she chews polish off her index nail. Smiling widely when Louis’s being deliberately annoying because, miraculously, Harry’s somehow as gone and smitten for Louis as Louis is for her. “M’bored.” 

“Lou- _ise_ ,” Harry replies, honey-slow, eyes bright. They only call each other by their full names when they’re flirting, and Louis has never liked the sound of those two syllables more than when Harry is saying them, so carefully, so teasingly. “Mary’n’I could quit and deal you in the next round, yeah?” 

But Louis doesn’t want to play hearts with Mary. She wants to grope Harry through her onesie, get her all riled up so that she’s sweaty, and then lick her neck. Maybe even try something new, like honest-to-god _sucking Harry’s nipples_ for more than a few terrifying, thrilling seconds before she chickens out and goes back to squeezing them instead. “Or you could come play with me instead. In our room,” she adds suggestively, waggling her eyebrows. She can be subtle when she wants to be. 

Harry flushes and sits up. “Erm, uh, yeah, okay,” she stutters, and Louis can’t fucking resist, the gap in the onesie is even _wider_ now, she can almost see a bit of Harry’s wide, dark areolas, so she reaches out and yanks the zipper down to let Harry’s tits spill out fully. 

Marry makes an affronted sound. “Ladies!” 

Harry doesn't shriek or cover herself up; she loves being naked, she’s proudofher gigantic tits, and she should be. She just giggles and pushes them out further as she leisurely pulls the zipper back up. “Don’t scare Aiden,” Harry scolds. 

“Oh, please, as if every lad in this house _hasn’t_ seen your boobs at least one hundred times each,” Louis gripes, mouth watering as she squeezes her thighs together. It doesn’t even faze Harry, so she only played herself. She’d feel like an idiot if she could feel anything but intense arousal. 

“One hundred and one,” Aiden deadpans without taking his eyes off the screen. “I’m immune at this point.” 

“I’m not,” Louis whispers very quietly, peeling herself off the table to sway in and press a quick, totally stealthy kiss to the top swell of Harry’s slightly bigger left tit before it’s zipped up and fully tucked away. “Bedtime?” she suggests in her normal voice as she pulls back, leaving Harry visibly and gloriously flustered. 

“Erm,” Harry stammers, hopping up and leading the way to the stairs. “Night, guys,” she tells the rest, even though it’s, like, six o’clock, and no one in their right mind would believe they were heading off to sleep. It’s fine, though, Niall and Aiden are battling it out in Waluigi’s stadium, and Mary’s pouring herself some wine and shaking her head as if she's positively done with teenagers and twentysomethings and reality show shared-housing life altogether. 

Harry and Louis can slip away unnoticed, holding hands, fingers interlaced so tightly that Louis can feel Harry’s pulse pounding away in her palm, a dead giveaway of what’s to come. Harry squeezes, and she squeezes her back, mouth flooded in anticipation of kisses. 

—-

As soon as they’re in their room, Harry bounds over to her bottom bunk, where she collapses and spreads out, unzipping the onesie down to her navel and beckoning impatiently for Louis, who needs three tries to lock the door because she’s doing it blind. How’s she supposed to look at anything save for the delicious curve of Harry’s side boob? 

“C’mon,” Harry says impatiently, wiggling, taking her hair down and fluffing it out so that the curls fall all over the pillow. She knows that Louis’s stupidly obsessed with her hair; it’s an unfair move. 

“Were you, like, _trying_ to get me to fail repeatedly at Mario Kart?” Louis asks, picking her way across the floor. It's a feat because their room is a disgusting, borderline-dangerous tip. She stumbles, stabbing her foot on Zayn’s hairbrush, which was hiding under one of Niall’s discarded T-shirts. Liam’s the only one with a semi-organized bunk, with her knock-off Louis Vuitton duffle tucked under the bed. Still, the other girls’ bras and socks are everywhere, creeping into Liam’s square of cleanliness like a disease. Louis nearly dies tripping over the cord of Harry’s hair dryer, which is precariously plugged into the outlet at her bedside. Fortunately, she catches herself in the nick of time and instead of falling, catapults into the bed and, subsequently, Harry. 

She's soft and warm under her, and Louis instantly melts, hiding her face in Harry’s neck. “I was trying to make you pay attention to me. If I sabotaged a few races, it was collateral damage,” Harry admits, low voice rumbling, soft hands smoothing down Louis’s back before pausing to squeeze her arse through her flannel pyjama bottoms. 

“It worked,” Louis hisses, propping herself up onto her elbows to look down at Harry, their noses brushing. She takes a deep breath, trying to gather up the courage to lean down and kiss her perfect lips properly. 

They’ve been snogging (and more than snogging) for weeks now, but Louis still has to psych herself up for it every single time. It’s not that she’s scared to kiss a girl anymore (she at least _knows_ now with unwavering uncertainty that she’s very, very gay, that all her attempts at dating boys before Harry were so weird because she _didn't actually like them_ , and, wow, what a relief it was to figure out that she wasn’t broken). It’s more that she's _super_ in love with Harry and totally terrified of fucking up whatever tentative thing they have with her inexperience and #BigFeelings. 

There are all these unspoken _patterns,_ see, and Louis doesn't really know what any of them _mean,_ what she's supposed to do about them. If there are lesbian rules she doesn't know about, if Harry is as nervous and new to this as she is, if that’s why this feels like fumbling in the dark. For example, she’s scared shitless to kiss Harry or to take things further, but Harry simply _will not_ initiate anything, like, at all. They’ll just roll around, teasing each other and playing with each other’s hair, until Louis’s wet and breathless and half-dead, until finally, _finally_ it becomes too much, her arousal wins out over her fear, and she presses her lips into Harry’s. 

And Harry’s never _not_ into it. She acts fucking starved for it, like she’s been _waiting,_ groaning and opening up and letting Louis devour her. And that's the thing: once Louis makes that first move to kiss her, Harry turns into a fucking animal. Like, there’s nothing she _won't_ do, eagerly and noisily. She's not afraid to get her tits out or to push Louis’s shirt up so that she can suck _her_ tits or to shove her hand down the front of Louis’s trackies and stroke her pussy through her knickers until they're embarrassingly soaked. Or, if Louis’s _not_ wearing knickers (something she will sometimes do in anticipation or if she doesn’t want to ruin another pair), Harry has no qualms whatsoever about just _touching_ her, rubbing her clit in hungry little circles or pushing a long, careful finger up inside her, reducing Louis to a slick and shivery mess. She’s not even afraid of eating Louis out, which she does often and with great enthusiasm, her face all shiny and wet when she’s done making Louis come two or ten times, eyes glazed, pink lips somehow _pinker,_ swollen. Harry’s _so_ good at making Louis come with her mouth that it’s unreal, and what’s more, she _lives_ for it. Tells Louis obscene, earth-shattering shit all the time, like, _I wanna die sucking your clit,_ or, _my single most favourite place in the world is between your thighs._

That’s the wildest part of it, really. It’s not just what she’ll _do_ once she’s been kissed, it’s what she’ll _say._ Harry isn't afraid to _say things_ , her words so frank and lewd that all Louis can do sometimes is blush fiercely and gasp, _Harriet!_ like she’s offended, when in reality, her cunt is _pulsing_ at Harry’s astounding, X-rated honesty. Shit like, _god, love how wet you get,_ or, _you taste amazing, been wantin’ it all day,_ or, somehow more mortifying than the rest, _you have the prettiest pussy in the world, Lou,_ while she lies there between her spread legs in one of their messy bunks, stroking Louis’s trimmed pubes with reverent, tremulous fingers, licking her lips in awe. 

It’s _so_ wild. Louis can’t even say the word “pussy” outside a joking context, like, literally she can’t. She thinks she might die if she tried. But her secret girlfriend certainly can. She just can’t _kiss her first._ It makes no sense. Louis wants answers, but she’s incapable of asking questions because Harry renders her speechless every time they fool around; all she can say is _fuck,_ and, _oh, my god,_ and, _Jesus, Harry,_ in these pathetic, cut-off whines. 

So she just lets the patterns continue. 

It's frustrating, though, because she _wants_ to do things to Harry, too. Desperately. She wants to make her feel good, wants to finger her and put her mouth on her and tell her that _she_ has a pretty pussy, too, she knows she does, even though she hasn’t seen it up close yet. She’s been using every ounce of bravery she can scrape up just to _kiss_ Harry. 

Harry has done pretty much everything _to her_ , so far.Louis can only make herself feel Harry’s tits and squeeze her tight little bum while Harry rubs herself to orgasm as she humps Louis’s thigh, usually after she's already made Louis come a few times or sometimes in the middle of their heated, dizzying snogging. Anything else beyond that is too terrifying to even think about. Like, she’s considered moving her hand down Harry’s soft stomach to cup her mound through her knickers, but every time she thinks she’s gonna do it, she freezes and stops before she can even unstick her hand from wherever it’s adhered to Harry’s fever-hot skin. 

Louis’s not complaining or anything. It’s been the hottest thing in her whole life, holding Harry’s waist or making fists in her arse, breathing in the fruity smell of her hair while she rides her so hard, the wet chaffing of Harry’s cunt on her skin unbelievably, incomprehensibly sexy. And it’s not like Harry's disappointed or unsatisfied after the fact, she usually collapses in a mess of shivery limbs and frizzy hair on top of Louis, panting, telling her how much she loves her thighs, how good she feels, how she loves feeling her under her. And they snuggle and kiss all soft and sweet and slow, and Louis never feels _inadequate_ or rushed, it’s just…like, she wants things, wants them really badly, and she’s frustrated at herself for being too scared to make them actually _happen._

She’s thought about it a lot, and two big things seem to be holding her back, aside from the uncontrollable _paralysis_ that overtakes her body every time she so much as tries to sneak a hand under the waistband of Harry’s knickers.

The first is that she’s _pretty_ sure she’s gonna love it, but there's a weird, somewhat-irrational fear she has that she _won’t_ , that it’ll be gross or something, which would make her a shitty lesbian and an even shittier secret girlfriend to Harry, who should be properly repaid for all the incredible lip service she’s given Louis over the last few weeks. Like, Louis has no problem with the way Harry’s mouth tastes when they kiss after Harry’s licked her out, and she’s pretty certain that Harry’s gonna taste even better to her because she’s legit obsessed with her pheromones and everything else about her, but the slight, slight possibility that she won't be into it like Harry deserves has her feeling perpetually unconfident about the whole thing. 

Which leads to her second and more pressing fear: that even if she _loves_ it, she won't be any _good_ at it. 

Like, 99% of Louis’s hesitance regarding anything beyond pushing her leg up between Harry’s thighs for her to grind off on is her deep-seated terror that all her insecurity and anxiety, her overwhelming and sort of pitiful desire to appear cool and suave and knowledgeable in front of Harry in spite of her complete lack of experience will _show_ the second she touches Harry’s pussy, and Harry suddenly won't want her anymore. Or she will, but her belief that Louis is cool and sexy will dissipate because she'll have to _show her_ how to make her feel good, and everything that made Louis seem exciting and older will fade away, and whatever’s happening between them will just fizzle out on Harry's end. And Louis’s heart will break. 

But she can’t be bad at something she hasn't even tried yet, which is why she hasn't tried to fuck Harry. She thinks it’s fine; if Harry never makes the first move, she can continue to _dream_ of eating her out without ever really taking the plunge. 

So her whole world sort of crumbles into blind shock when _Harry_ cranes her neck up off the bed and kisses Louis square on the mouth. 

Louis yelps into the kiss, hands in Harry's curls, stomach dropping at the thrill of _finally,_ finally being kissed. But her reaction must startle Harry because she pulls away suddenly, recoiling, eyes wide. “Oh, my god, m’sorry, I...I didn’t mean—” 

“No, no, don’t be sorry, love, I just...you haven't done that before? I was surprised,” Louis admits, leaning in and kissing Harry in what she hopes is a reassuring way. It's hard to be reassuring, though, when you’re so nervous that you’re shaking. Louis pulls away, all dizzy and trembly. “M’always having to work up the nerve to do it.” 

“Oh, god,” Harry gasps, covering her face with her big, clumsy hands before looping her arms around Louis’s neck and pulling her close, big tits getting crushed between them. Her onesie is totally open now, her skin is bare and warm, and Louis wants to get her own shirt off so that she can feel her flush, but she can’t make herself move. “This is so stupid, I know, but, like…I don't trust this is real or really happening until you kiss me? I trick myself into thinking I made it up ‘cos it seems too good to be true,” Harry confesses, voice muffled against Louis’s shoulder. “I know that sounds mad, and m’such a sop, but it’s true.” 

Louis is thrumming with anxiety, her heart in her throat as she makes herself answer. “God, no, it’s…s’really sweet, Hazza. Promise it's real, though, m’real,” she tells her, palms sweating with nerves. She's tempted to wipe them on her own PJs rather than profane Harry’s body with them, but she can tell that Harry needs to be touched right now, soothed, so she pushes past her own bullshit to rub up and down Harry’s biceps, squeezing. She forgets, sometimes, because Harry’s so precocious and self-assured at sex stuff, that she’s _only_ sixteen, that she’s probably insecure about so much of this, too. “M’not going anywhere. You’re not gonna scare me away, I swear.” 

“Okay,” Harry whispers, voice still small as she burrows closer, squeezes Louis harder, fiercely containing the wild thud of her heart. 

Louis’s rapidly losing her bravado, so before it all drains out of her, she blurts, “I, erm...I also have something to confess.” Harry tenses, so to spare her any anticipation-related anxiety, Louis quickly adds, “If I’m honest, I wanna touch you more than anything in the whole world, and…and go down on you,” she manages, because she can’t actually utter the words _eat you out_ without combusting, “But I’m positively terrified that I’ll be shit at it, and you’ll break up with me ‘cos m’not good in bed.

It hangs there in the humid air of the shared bottom bunk for a moment, Louis’s eyes screwed tight as she presses her face into the pillow and Harry’s hair, which is strewn all over the pillowcase like strawberry-scented gossamer. “Lou,” Harry says after a moment, voice very serious, breaths deep and slow as she shifts both their bodies since Louis’s still lying half on top of her. “I’m pretty sure you could just, like, exhale on my pussy, and I’d come right there on the spot, on your face. It takes ten seconds of humping your thigh wearing my _knickers_ for me to come harder than’ve ever made myself come on my own. I don’t think it’s physically _possible_ for you to be bad in bed. You’re already, like, erm, yeah, ace.” 

Louis blushes so fiercely that she feels like she just downed an entire glass of wine in one pull. “You just…say how you feel, don’t you?” she squeaks. 

“I try,” Harry mumbles. “Also, like, s’okay if you aren’t ready yet...I don't need you to do that stuff, m’totally satisfied with what we do right now. Really. S’like, no rush,” Harry spills out, voice shaky as she smooths her fingers through Louis’s short pixie cut. 

Feeling brave after getting through her initial confession, Louis sits up, ducks her head so that she doesn't knock it on the underside of the top bunk, and straddles Harry’s hips. “That’s just the thing, though, I _really,_ really want to. Think about it all the time, m’just...I don’t like when I’m not good at things,” she admits, tracing a finger down Harry’s sternum between the spread of her tits, watching her breath hitch at the contact. “I’ve never done it before, obviously.” 

“I hadn’t either, and you like it anyway, yeah? We can…we can just feel it out, whenever you’re ready. I _doubt_ I’ll need to give you much direction, but if I do, s’not a big deal,” Harry shrugs, shoulders shifting on the mattress. She looks so cute with her flushed cheeks and blown pupils, a bit of brown hair stuck to the corner of her wet, wet mouth. Louis has to dip down and kiss her, and as soon as she does, Harry groans into it and licks her mouth open because Harry never wastes time with chaste, closed-mouth pecks when she can taste Louis. 

They snog heatedly for a minute, Harry’s hands all over Louis’s back and under her shirt before she breaks the kiss long enough to struggle out of the top half of her onesie, tits spilling out pale and glorious. Louis stares, suddenly dry-mouthed. “I want… _fuck_. I always wanna play with them more than I do. Worried m’gonna fuck that up, too, though.” 

“You won’t fuck it up,” Harry tells her, squeezing them together so they kiss in the middle, making Louis all hot and dizzy. “Like, you can squeeze ‘em, bite ‘em…whatever you want, promise! I like it rough.” 

Louis tentatively thumbs over the crease between Harry's soft tits, gasping when Harry shivers and bucks under her. “What if I do it too soft, then?” she whispers. 

“I like that, too...I like you,” Harry says, chewing her lips, the obscene pink slick of them dimpling under a flash of teeth. “I promise, nothing you do will be bad. I’ll love it always.” 

Louis kisses Harry hard before rolling onto her side and scooting down a bit so that her face is level with her magnificent cleavage, breath ghosting over her nipples, making them harden. Sometimes when Harry’s grinding on top of her before she ends up buried between Louis’s thighs, Louis will kiss her tits a bit or, if she's feeling particularly daring, suck on them, lick her nipples, loving how they tighten at her touch. But doing it for more than a few seconds seems greedy and gratuitous, almost fetishistic, like the way men who see Harry in tight clothes will stare so blatantly at her breasts, even make _comments_ when she’s gone, like she's not a sixteen-year-old girl with a soul and dimples and an amazing singing voice, but just a pair of tits. Louis’s terrified of seeming like one of those guys, so she tries not to spend too much time focused on Harry's chest, but things feel different today, she has _permission_ to try what she wants, what she's ready for, and Harry’s lying there, twirling bits of her hair around her fingers as she arches her back to push her tits closer to Louis’s mouth, almost like an invitation. “Can I just, like…play with them for a bit? Is that weird?”

“Erm, _yes,_ you can _,”_ Harry giggles, sounding a little nervous. “I want you to...but why would it be weird? I play with your tits all the time,” she reminds her, reaching out and poking a love bite right there on the top curve of Louis's little palm-sized swell. 

“S’weird because yours are, like...amazing, love. Loads more to play with, and I don't want you to feel, I dunno, objectified or something,” Louis murmurs before licking her lips and pitching forward, fixing her mouth to the underside of Harry’s right breast, kneading the other one experimentally. She can feel Harry’s heart speed up, feel her writhe a little bit, so she kisses closer to the nipple before flicking her tongue out over it. 

“I don’t feel objectified, I feel sexy...feel _fantastic_ ,” Harry gasps, hooking one leg over the side of Louis’s hip and dragging her closer, rubbing on her because it seems like Harry’s incapable of doing anything past kissing without flat-out _humping_ some part of Louis or, if she’s eating her out, humping the bed. Louis thinks it’s incredibly hot, how desperate Harry gets, how much it turns her on just to feel Louis get slick and puffy under her tongue. “Oh, _god_ , that’s so good,” she whines, hand tightening in Louis’s hair as she closes her lips around Harry’s nipple and sucks hard, getting her teeth in a little bit, like Harry told her to. 

Harry scratches Louis’s scalp as she rolls her hips, and Louis must be doing something right because the _sounds_ that she's making are so hot, so breathy, so raw. Louis boldly squeezes Harry’s other tit, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger before sucking on it hungrily. Harry feels _unbelievably good_ in her mouth, under her hands, skin soft and hot like a fever in her palms, a familiar humidity building up in the tight space between Harry’s legs and her own thigh, where Harry’s pressing and grinding in stilted bucks. Louis wants to touch her there, slide her hand down the gaping front of Harry’s onesie and find out if she's wearing lace knickers or the soft, cotton boy-shorts she sometimes prefers. She wants to pull the crotch aside and dip into her the way she always imagines when she touches herself, pretending that it's Harry under her fingertips instead.

She’s still too nervous to take that step, though, especially not when she’s distracted by the new, heady reality of Harry’s tits at her disposal. She feels drunk off them, so self-indulgent as she sucks and licks and kisses and _feels,_ finally getting to touch to her heart's content without worrying about it going on too long or turning into something weird. Harry _likes it,_ wants it, told her she could do whatever she wants, so she’s gonna take her up on that and make up for all the wasted time. 

She's in the middle of fiercely sucking a mark on Harry’s left tit, right at the edge of the areola, when Harry’s fingers tighten on her shoulder, thumb digging in hard. “Louis,” she chokes out. “M’so…you’ve got me so wet.” 

“I do?” Louis rasps, mouth wet and sloppy on Harry’s skin, fingers flexing where they’re latched onto her ribcage. She _knows_ that Harry gets wet for her because she always leaves a mess on her thigh, but all of her dirty talk up to this point has been about Louis. Louis's body, Louis’s wetness. This is the first time she's talked about her _own_ body like that, and it feels like an invitation of sorts. Excitement zips up Louis’s spine, makes her tense as she pushes her thigh further up between Harry’s legs, up against heat. 

“Yeah,” Harry slurs, rocking into the pressure. “Do you want…can I show you?” she asks, taking Louis’s hand in her own and interlacing their fingers. 

“Fuck, yeah...please,” Louis tells her, squeezing her hand and feeling so relieved that she didn’t have to _ask_ for it, that Harry’s just giving it to her, putting it in her hand. 

Slowly, carefully, Harry guides Louis’s fingers down into the unzipped half of her onesie, just like Louis was imagining only moments before. Her skin is hot as Louis brushes over it, even hotter at the core of her, where she’s burning up. Louis thinks she’s died and gone to heaven as Harry pushes her fingers under the waistband of her boy-shorts and into the sticky, secret place between her thighs. 

Everything is soft and slick. Folds upon folds and close-cropped, coarse hair and heat and heat and heat and, _fuck,_ Louis is trembling, is letting out a muffled sob into Harry's shoulder. “Are you alright?” Harry asks, squeezing Louis’s wrist under the elastic of her knickers, sounding worried if not panicked. 

“Yeah, m’good,” Louis gets out, crooking her fingers experimentally so that they push up into Harry a bit, making her jolt. “You just...Christ, you feel so good.” 

Harry relaxes a bit, tilting into the touch. Louis rubs her fingers up and down her slit before nudging them over her clit, amazed by how swollen and hard it is, just from _this,_ from kissing, from getting her nipples sucked and bitten. “You do, too,” Harry whimpers, rocking into Louis’s palm. “Like, so fucking good.” 

Harry’s response makes Louis feel better, bolder, so she rubs her clit with more pressure and insistence, just like she’d rub her herself, in tight, certain circles. Harry cries out as her thighs clench, and, _fuck, yes,_ Louis is _doing it right_ , and it feels so good and exciting that she can hardly breathe, so she kisses Harry instead, shifting up the bed to catch her gasping mouth with her own. Harry’s sloppy with desire, lips wet, tongue wetter, though nothing is as wet as Louis’s fingers as they rub gracelessly but deliberately up through Harry’s folds. 

She can’t even believe it. She’s _touching_ Harry Styles, _fingering_ her, making her feel good. Rubbing her pussy. _Pussy._ God, even just thinking something so thrilling and filthy makes her shiver, has her throbbing in her PJs. Harry’s so _silky,_ so swollen, every bump and fold so thick and wet that Louis can _imagine_ what it would feel like on her lips, the salty, metallic taste, the sensation of Harry bucking into her. 

She’s rhythmically pumping her tongue in and out of Harry’s plush mouth for a few moments before she even realizes what she’s doing, what she’s fantasizing about. “Fuck,” she moans, pulling away as she pushes her fingers up inside Harry’s cunt, crooking them at the second joint just to feel her shudder. “Erm, wanna...want to taste you now,” she gets out before she loses her nerve, panting into Harry’s mouth. “If that’s okay, love.” 

Harry groans, head falling back to expose the bitable ripple of her throat; Louis mouths up it, fucking her fingers deeper, mindless with sudden, arousal-induced confidence now that she knows she can make her so sloppy and hot like this. “It’s very much...like, er, it’s a lot...okay, I mean,” Harry stammers, squeezing Louis’s hand between her thighs. “Fuck, Jesus, oh, my god, can’t believe this is happening.” 

Louis really can’t either. The whole thing is surreal, time passing at a weird, foggy pace as she withdraws her hand to bring it to her own lips. She can smell Harry on her before she tastes her fingers, the salty-spicy musk strong and mouth-watering as she sucks it off, dazed at the slippery texture on her lips. The knowledge, just the _knowledge_ that it’s Harry has her so fucking dizzy and turned on that she's trembling. “Ungh,” Harry grunts as she watches, bucking in the air. “Is that…s’it good?” 

“Fuck, Haz,” she hisses, tongue tingling. “S’like, god, it’s the best, just wanna kiss you…right there. Lick you up.” Her cheeks colour fiercely, it’s the dirtiest, most direct thing that she’s ever said to Harry in a sexual context, and Harry’s writhing, frantic reaction alone is enough of a reward for her to keep talking. “Jesus, look at you,” she marvels in a shaky voice as Harry struggles out of her onesie and kicks it off the bed in a heap, underpants visibly wet at the crotch. “You’ve thought about this?” Louis asks, brushing her knuckles down Harry’s heaving stomach as she moves between her legs, trying to be brave. “My mouth?” 

“Loads of times,” Harry admits, snapping the waistband of her boy-shorts against her own hip. “Not _too_ much because I didn’t wanna push you…but, yeah, I’ve thought about it. Wanted it.” 

Louis licks her lips. “Me, too...sorry for being chickenshit.”

Harry shakes her head, sweaty curls flying everywhere, cheeks bright and shiny. “ _I’m_ the one who’s sorry...I’ve been chickenshit, too,” she whispers. “Should I, erm, take these off?” she asks, idly touching the front of her knickers. Louis’s gaze flashes down, and her mouth waters a little because she can see the _shape_ of Harry’s mound, the stretchy material clinging to her, accentuating her plump curves. God. 

“I will, I want to,” she pants, batting Harry’s hand away and hooking her own trembling fingers into the waistband to carefully roll the boy-shorts down Harry’s thighs as she lifts her bum up off the mattress. Harry’s usually so shameless about nudity, but she’s pressing her thighs together shyly right now, hiding everything between them, chewing her lip, and looking at Louis with wide, glassy eyes. “You know, if _you_ aren’t ready, we don’t have to either,” Louis reminds her, smoothing gentle palms up the outside of Harry’s legs. She shaved recently, and the hair’s prickly as Louis pushes it against the grain, making her wonder if Harry’s totally shaved down there, too, or if she trims and leaves a bit like Louis does. 

“No, s’fine, just…savouring the moment, I guess,” Harry says in a hush, slowly parting her thighs. “I like the way you look down there, about to eat pussy for the first time.” 

Louis blushes fiercely, that fucking _word_ Harry has zero qualms about using searing into her like a tattoo. She rubs her burning cheek against Harry’s skin, trying hard not to just, like, _stare at her._ She’s totally shaved, but there are a few days’ worth of stubble and some bumpy red marks at the creases of her inner thighs. “Sorry,” Harry mumbles, when she catches Louis noticing. “If I’d known we were doing this tonight, I would’ve cleaned up a bit or something.” 

“Don’t mind a bit, love, I think you’re fucking beautiful,” Louis assures her, reverently kissing under her belly button down to the edge of the close-cropped hair, which scours her chin a little bit, making her shiver. Harry’s wet _,_ she can _smell_ it, can feel the heady heat radiating from her core, and Louis’s mouth floods in anticipation. She can’t believe she's gonna kiss a _girl_ there, and not just any girl, she’s gonna kiss _Harry_ there. She’s nervous, but there’s also a weird, resigned placidity washing over her. She’d call it an out-of-body experience or something, but that’s not quite right, as she’s _here,_ very here, very aware of every twitch of Harry’s muscles beneath her fingers, the scent of sweat and arousal thick in the air. She’s here, she’s just not terrified anymore. “So, what do I do?” she asks. 

Harry reaches between her legs and spreads her lips with her index and middle fingers. Everything’s lush and pink and glistening, and Louis suddenly, unexpectedly has to choke back a sob. She’s not sad or even overwhelmed, she’s…god, she’s _so gay,_ so relievedat how good this feels, how _exciting_ and wonderful it is before she’s even made proper _contact._ Just _looking_ at Harry, a beautiful girl spread and wanting and wet like this, is better than every single sexual experience she’s ever had with a boy. It’s like coming home. “You can, erm, kiss it, I guess, if you aren’t ready to taste.” Harry sounds uncertain, but Louis is not. She’s in this. 

“Er, I’m ready to taste,” she tells her, pitching closer, dizzy as she wets her lips. “God, Harry, fuck, this is so hot. _You’re_ so hot.” 

“Yeah?” Harry asks, restlessly shifting on the bed, almost carelessly smoothing a finger over the shiny, hot nub of her clit. “I feel weird...like, exposed.” 

“I like it,” Louis whispers, the last thing she says before she closes the distance and places a soft, curious kitten-lick right where Harry’s finger was. 

Harry jolts, then stills, then sighs, “Oh,” followed by a few laboured breaths, and then, “ _Fuck_.” 

“Alright?” Louis asks, tongue salty, tingling with the memory of Harry so slippery and soft under her. It was weird, but she wants more. She wants a lot more. 

“Very, very, _very_ nice,” Harry slurs. 

Emboldened, Louis ducks back in, opening her mouth over the whole of Harry’s cunt this time and flicking her tongue up and down, loving the way Harry squirms, the way she feels so _hard_ right there at the top of the slit where she’s swollen, throbbing. Her clit is _big,_ bigger than Louis's, at least, and Louis can fit her lips around it and properly _suck_ for a few seconds, which is amazing. Harry groans and bucks into her face, throwing Louis off a bit because she wasn't totally expecting to have to keep her position while Harry _moved._ “Oh, wow,” she croaks raggedly as she kneads gentle, wanting hands into Harry’s quivering inner thighs before sliding lower, thumbing her lips apart so that they’re spread, exposing her whole interior. “You taste _so_ fucking good, I’m a git for not trying this sooner.” 

“Mmmmmmmmm,” Harry keens wordlessly, head lolling back and forth on the pillow. “More, please.’ 

Louis uses her lips and tongue for a while, just kissing her cunt like she would her mouth, getting used to the slick-slippery feel of her, the metallic-salty-spicy-musky taste, the way she rolls her hips and whines and thrusts into Louis when she’s not using enough pressure. And that’s sort of fun, too, getting her face fucked, _teasing Harry_ with light, fleeting touch so that she's moaning in frustration, legs trembling. “I could do this forever, by the way,” Louis murmurs, lips ghosting against Harry's swollen, needy clit. “New goal in life, like, forget being in a girlband or winning _The X Factor_ …just wanna do this all day. Eat pussy,” she clarifies, not even realizing that the word has left her lips until it _does._ Her heart leaps up into her throat, choking her for a moment, and, _fuck,_ she's proud of herself. So many firsts today. 

“Fuck, _Lou-ise,_ please, just, like...m’close, you could finish me off,” she whimpers, huffing. “You’re quite good at this.” 

“Didn’t you hear me, though? Don’t wanna finish you off, wanna make a career out of pussy-eating,” she repeats bravely, grinning into Harry's pubic bone at the sound she makes in reaction to hearing Louis say something dirty to her not once but _twice._

 _“_ S’long as it’s my pussy you’re eating,” Harry grunts, rocking closer, nudging her folds into Louis’s face insistently. Louis tries to tease and hold back, but the reality is that she can’t be this close without diving back in, so with a little whine, she licks back down to her slit and then pushes her tongue up to where she's wettest. 

Harry sighs low and long and presses desperately into it, and that makes Louis feel powerful, so she does it again, fucking her tongue in and out, even though she can’t get that deep and also can’t really breathe. It feels good, though, suffocating here, so Louis fucks Harry until her vision whites out and she needs to inhale, thumbs digging into Harry's thighs. When she pulls away to breathe, her chin is slick, her ears are ringing, and Harry is _begging,_ so she goes a little crazy and latches back onto her clit, sucking and licking and groaning until Harry makes a fist in her hair and holds her there while she grinds. Louis’s jaw is aching and her bottom lip feels swollen and busted and is possibly bleeding, but she's so fucking happy, she doesn't even care if she dies, she just stays there with her mouth open and moaning over Harry’s sloppy cunt as it fucks the wet slick of her mouth to orgasm. 

Louis knows when it happens, too, because she can feel Harry pulsing against her chin, a steady, rhythmic clutch that makes her wish she had a finger or two inside Harry so she could _feel_ the pressure around her knuckles, holding her in. She moans as Harry does, tightening her grip on her thighs to make sure that Harry doesn’t buck her off, and by the time Harry finishes and releases her, gasping, she’s dizzy, she’s coughing, she’s, like, _transcending._

It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her, basically. 

“Wow,” she pants, ducking back down to lick at Harry's sensitive folds. Harry hisses and jumps, but she doesn't squirm away, she just tangles her hand back in Louis’s hair, petting her. 

“That was…you should feel very good about yourself,” she manages to get out, all soft and giggly, eyes glazed and cheeks flushed a violent red. “I feel like I’ve _never_ come that hard, not even against your leg.” 

“I should _hope_ that my mouth is more talented than my _thigh_ ,”Louis giggles back deliriously. She’s seeing stars, she’s breathing so hard that her whole body is moving in time with each exhalation, and she's _so,_ so happy. And so, _so_ turned on. “I loved doing that, and I love the way you taste, and...yeah, loved it all, really,” she gushes, stopping herself before she confesses, _I love you, I love you so fucking much, Harry Styles._

 _“_ M’glad you like it as much as I do,” Harry sighs fondly, making grabby hands in the air and motioning for Louis, who’s having a hard time tearing herself away from her present position. She sort of wants to just lie here, petting Harry and inhaling from her and sucking self-indulgently while she humps the bed or finishes herself off with her hands. She loves having Harry up close like this, in technicolour, but Harry’s making impatient noises, huffing, “My turn.” 

“Make room for me then,” Louis counters, clambering up and shoving Harry gently with her thigh to try and get her to roll over since she’s monopolizing the entire bed right now. 

“Nope,” Harry grins, her smile so bright and cheeky that it scares Louis a little. “I want you to sit on my face.” 

Louis’s stomach drops, the whole of her suddenly weak and shaky. Harry has eaten her out countless times, but usually when she's on her back (or a few times when she was standing in the shower, and Harry couldn’t wait and decided to risk drowning just to get her mouth there). Straddling her, being on _top_ , feels like something entirely new: directing how and when Harry gets her, how much weight she’s taking, how deep she can lick. It’s heady to even think about, so instead of worrying too much, she just says, “Yeah, okay, you’d like that?” as she shimmies out of her PJs and throws a leg over Harry’s hip. 

“Yeah, a lot,” Harry murmurs, hands broad and reverent on Louis’s quadriceps. Louis’s still wearing her knickers, a sort of worn-out pair of pale pink Primark pants, lace and nylon with a few holes up by the waistband. They aren’t particularly sexy, but Harry always makes her _feel_ sexy, no matter how she looks, her gaze hungry where it’s fixed on the scrap of fabric. “Leave those on, even. I want...fuck...I want you hold them to the side, and, like, give it to me while I just lie here and take it.”

It’s _so hot,_ and Louis doesn't even know why. She can’t articulate what about it feels so filthy, but as she knee-walks up Harry’s prone body and lowers herself to her mouth, close enough that she can feel her anxious exhalations dancing over her mound, she’s _throbbing,_ so fucking turned on that it feels unreasonable. She brushes herself against Harry’s perfect lips, just for a second, enough to make her yelp. “You want it?” she asks, toying with the hem of the leg-hole, aware that a few stray hairs are sticking out, that she’s likely soaked through the crotch, that Harry can _see._

 _“_ Oh, please, fuck, _please_ ,” Harry begs, raking her nails lightly up Louis’s thighs and cupping her bum, squirming underneath her. She could lift her head off the mattress or grab the pillow that she managed to push aside while she was coming and jam it under her head to close the gap, but she’s not doing that. She’s waiting for Louis's permission, waiting for Louis to tug her knickers aside and press her lips to Harry’s, slick her up, _fuck her mouth._ It’s dizzying. “I can smell you,” Harry slurs, licking her lips, the most patient Louis has ever seen her where pussy-eating is concerned, like all Louis needed to do was pin her down and sit on her to get Harry to wait. 

“You wanna taste me, yeah?” Louis asks, carefully, carefully pulling the crotch to the side, knuckles brushing against herself, eliciting an embarrassing, cut-off gasp. She’s so fucking wet, so swollen, stupidly close, which is fine because she _knows_ that her legs are too shaky to sustain more than a few desperate thrusts. 

“So badly, Lou,” Harry whimpers, pursing her lips together before opening her mouth to say something more, but Louis doesn’t let her say it, whatever it was. She’s feeling drunk on this new power, brave and gay and in love, all of it, so she stuffs every potential insecurity she could possibly have about riding her secret girlfriend’s face and just _rides it._ Drops down onto her pretty lips, thighs spread and quaking, elastic held tightly to the side so that Harry’s plush, hungry tongue has room to lap up inside her, hot and slick and absolutely maddening. Harry _devours_ her like she's been starved. Her eyes are screwed shut, her hands are clutching at Louis’s bum, and she’s nursing her clit like her life depends on it, strokes of her tongue so sloppy and messy that Louis feels like she’s dripping. Harry moans up into her, and the vibration is so intense that Louis’s coming before she even has time to process what’s happening, rocking down onto Harry’s face, cutting off her air and momentarily choking her sounds silent. She comes down hard and fast, winded and oversensitive in seconds, crying out as she pitches forward into the wall. 

“Jesus Christ,” she rasps, arms trembling so hard that she can’t hold herself up. She collapses onto Harry, who’s gasping, making these hurt little mewls like she wants more but knows that she can’t have it. “Dunno if I should be embarrassed or impressed with myself. Or you.” 

“All three’s good, s’hot,” Harry pants, hands climbing all over Louis’s back, pulling at her shirt. “You’re hot...hottest girl ever. C’mere so I can kiss you.” 

Louis struggles down the bed and into Harry’s arms with some difficulty, her whole body so exhausted that none of her limbs want to go where she’s moving them. “You sound drunk,” she giggles as she finally makes it and nuzzles into Harry’s hot, sweat-sticky cheek until the dimple appears and she feels blessed. 

“Pussy-drunk,” Harry mumbles, eyes closed, smile cheeky, curls everywhere. 

Louis shrieks wordlessly and pokes her. “Stop saying stuff like that! We both came, so it’s scandalous now and not allowed.” 

“Says the girl who unzipped me’onsie in front of _Mary,”_ Harry reminds her, rolling onto her side and throwing her arms around Louis, squeezing tightly. “I’m so lucky you like me enough to eat me out _and_ fuck my face all in the same night. And you haven't even watched hours’ worth of shitty lesbian porn like I have. You’re amazing.” 

_I did a good job, right?_ Louis wants to ask, but she stops herself because she can _tell_ she has from the sated, floppy way that Harry’s all over her, from the way that her own reflection is shining back at her when Harry sleepily opens her eyes. That, miraculously, Harry _likes her,_ maybe even loves her. That all of these firsts, all of these new, uncharted waters are so brilliant, even if they're scary, because she and Harry are _in love._

She hopes so, anyway. “I’ve watched _some_ lesbian porn,” she admits after a minute, shrugging. “Funny thing is, I told myself I liked it because I was imagining a guy doing to me the stuff that one girl was doing to the other, but, like, I was just looking at two girls and casually wondering what it would be like to lick one out. I was an idiot.” 

Harry squeezes her. “A super gay idiot, like, _so_ gay. And m’so glad you figured out that you were gay so you can do more than just _wonder_ what it’s like to lick a girl out.” 

Louis’s glad, too, mostly because her life finally makes sense, but also because _Harry_ is the one who helped her figure it out, and they can _do_ all this stuff together. She doesn’t have to wonder or stumble through the darkness, asking questions about herself that she couldn't hope to answer on her own. It’s so much easier to have a sexuality crisis when that crisis has a name and green eyes and dimples and huge, magnificent tits. 

Louis turns her face into Harry’s curls and thinks, _I love you, I love you so fucking much, Harry Styles. “_ Don’t have to wonder what it's like anymore,” she says, twirling a chunk of hair around her finger and releasing it so that it springs back into place. “Now I know it’s the best thing in the world.” 


End file.
